The brick walk led straight between rows of neatly-clipped box to the
front door. In the grass plot on the right, there was a circle of
scarlet geraniums and on the left there was a circle of scarlet
verbenas. On one side of the porch, there was a neatly-trimmed rose-bush
with straggling yellow blossoms, and on the other side there was a white
rose-bush.
The front door was open. Anne saw a long, narrow hall with whitewashed
walls and a bare, clean floor. A curtain which screened the back of the
hall fluttered in the breeze, and disclosed a long rack holding
twenty-six pairs of overshoes, and above them, each on its own hook,
twenty-six straw hats. Anne counted them while she waited and her heart
sank--why, she could not have told. She knew that no matter how long she
might live, she would never, never, never want a broad-brimmed straw hat
with a blue ribbon round it. A subdued clatter of knives and forks came
from a room at the back. Anne reflected that this place seemed more like
a boarding-school than a home. How odd it was to have a sign over the
door saying that it was a 'Home'! And 'for Girls.' How did the people
choose that their children were to be just girls?
While she was thinking these things, the cabman put her trunk down on
the porch, rang the bell, and stamped down the steps.
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